


the art of touch

by spookysp_ace (summermoonsdawn)



Series: urban flora [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Osamu really just loves Keiji's hips okay, Sexual Tension, allusions to sexy times, and i wanted to write about hips, i suggest listening to it while reading, kinda-sorta sexy times, lyrics from "unfold" by urban flora, osamu like: damn these hips NICE, title also from "unfold"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermoonsdawn/pseuds/spookysp_ace
Summary: Keiji’s hips were a sculpture within a sculpture. A metaphor within a metaphor–like the epic similes of Milton’s Paradise Lost; Satan’s praise of Eve’s demure, only to understand that Eve had the power in her hands all along. Maybe, it was better to say that Keiji was the reason Osamu fell, not realizing what pedestal he’d created for himself. To see Keiji though, to speak with him and love him–had been all the reason to rise against God.-Or: Osamu really loves Keiji's hips.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Series: urban flora [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910344
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	the art of touch

**Author's Note:**

> JDHKSDFHSDKJF OKAY OKAY i KNOW it's literally not ANY of the other fics i've talked about writing but OsaAka has invaded my ability to write anything else KSHDFJKSDF anyways.
> 
> i really wasn't sure how to tag, but if you think something needs to be tagged after reading, just give me a heads up and i'll do it.
> 
> i have another OsaAka fic i'm working on.... as well as KuroDai... and KuroSemi.... but i'm in the middle of a big move right now so the fact i got this done was WOWOW a lot.
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE, listen to this song either BEFORE or while you are reading!!!
> 
> [Unfold by Urban Flora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SCge896rxY)

_ Cover my thoughts in gold _

_ I'm your flower, watch me unfold _

_ My vulnerability, letting you consume me _

_ The parts of me that eyes can't see _

_ The glowing underneath _

_ Picking off the petals _

_ I'll let you if you're gentle _

  
  


* * *

Osamu blinked into consciousness, sunlight filtering through the open curtains of their room. He was normally awake earlier than this, early enough that it could still be dark outside—early enough that he could make a cup of coffee and sit outside on his balcony and watch the sun rise over the Tokyo skyline. He’d sit until it was time to get ready for work, and then he’d go down to Onigiri Miya and help his workers set up for the morning. Today, though, he would probably need to be dressed within the next ten minutes to leave on time. Except–

Except now there was an addition to his routine that slotted in perfectly amongst everything. Osamu has never been a romantic, never wished to be one, but Akaashi Keiji walked into his life and suddenly Osamu was a starving man with a feast of eternity presented before him.

That same man was laying on the other side of his bed, head tucked under a pillow to block out the morning’s golden rays. A fact he’d learned early on, before Keiji and him were even in a relationship, was Keiji’s incredibly dark view on mornings and anything moving before ten o’clock in the morning. The man tended to instead wake up late, but go to bed late, making the late evening his grounds for motivation and heavy work. 

Though Osamu had recently been employing more for the Onigiri Miya business, he would still go into the Tokyo location, even if it was to just introduce a new flavor. He liked to be busy and none of his employees ever complained about his presence, and more often than not the locals that came in everyday were more than happy to see him. That said, he was up early in the mornings. While the sun and the shadows it cast across the bedroom were welcome, he was more fond of the indent that Keiji made in his bed–and the indent his existence made in Osamu’s mornings.

The sheets were light weighted in the bed and they cascaded across Keiji’s body like a Geeek statue of Aphrodite, finely scraped and pale like the moon. Against his smooth skin, the black sheets were a dazzling contrast. Though his face was hidden by the pillow, tufts of curls were peaking as if they were birds in a tree. The planes of his upper body were curved  _ just _ so, almost as if in contrapposto. The t-shirt Keiji had pulled on after a well done ravishing, before they’d gone to bed, and was raised a hair's breadth above the line of his boxers. Between the two lines of the shirt and loose briefs, Keiji’s hips were protruding.

Every line of Keiji’s body was one pulled by a stick of conté–carved into the blandest of paper to be it’s only figure and form, ever. Osamu could only desire to be the one changing the shifts in those lines, whether it be the ones of Keiji’s mouth as they gaped in a soft gasp; or the lines of his fingers as they fluttered up his skin, dancing towards his eyes to try and hide his expressions. Especially as Osamu mouthed at the bones under his skin–and those hips. 

Keiji’s hips were a sculpture within a sculpture. A metaphor within a metaphor–like the epic similes of Milton’s  _ Paradise Lost; _ Satan’s praise of Eve’s demure, only to understand that Eve had the power in her hands all along. Maybe, it was better to say that Keiji was the reason Osamu fell, not realizing what pedestal he’d created for himself. To see Keiji though, to speak with him and love him–had been all the reason to rise against God. 

Osamu could take a silver spoon, place it’s bowl over the curves of Keiji’s hips and watch as it’s inside cupped the sharp edges. He had worked his mouth over those same hips and thighs the night before; but now with the sun gazing through the window at them, and giving Keiji’s skin a pleasant glow, he wanted to do it again and again until there was a smattering of flush on the tender skin.

He reached over with the same attentive fingers he used for cooking, for his passion, and let their tips and nails graze the thin paleness—the whiter bone underneath–against who he’d only hope would be his eternal passion. With a tame drag of his fingers, they were pulled towards the opposite hip, the opposite crest, hidden still by Keiji’s shirt.

Keiji’s chest raised with a waking breath. Like a flower, and the sun–unfolding for one.

The night before, their pleasure was thick. It was a roaring wave and they were the surfers in a surging ocean. Keiji had been raised on Osamu’s lap and Osamu had been his humble worshipper in their own temple—his offering had been Osamu’s hands as they gripped his waist and held him, chest-to-chest, Keiji’s own heat heavy between them. His neck had been bare to the ceiling, praying to whatever gods existed, without even realizing that he was the god of the two of them. Without realizing that Osamu would be his firm believer to whatever means.

That Osamu would give him everything he asked.

He’d not given those sharp hips the attention they deserved then. But he would now.

Osamu leaned over, dipped close, and nosed the hip closest to him. With both his elbows on either side of Keiji, he hovered. His mouth mirrored his actions and stayed above the fabric of Keiji’s briefs, right at the crook of his iliac crest and thigh.

“Osamu–” Keiji breathed, eyes fluttering. His rasping, waking voice stirred at Osamu’s eardrums.

“There ye’re Keiji,” Osamu said, a hum on top of skin. His lips breathed out, just as the words had slipped his tongue.

Keiji huffed. “It’s early,” he said, but he still moved the pillow off of his face and lifted his head onto it. There, Keiji’s face was pillowed like a diamond in a box, his eyes crown jewels. Treasure wanted, desired, but only given to one.

Osamu had been called passionate for few things: onigiri and volleyball were of the two. But with Keiji he wished to be not only passionate but hungry. Continually hungry. Remember, Osamu is a starving man.

“S’not like you’re sleeping,” Osamu answered with a wiry smile. He lifted his head, leaned on one elbow and reached towards Keiji’s lips. Keiji reciprocated the light kiss in a sleepy haze, before raising his hands to feather Osamu's hair. Keiji’s once-a-setter hands had never lost their religious-like care to what they touched–volleyball’s, making onigiri with Osamu, gentle presses of a pen over paper, even the efficient taps of keys on a keyboard, but definitely this; when they touched Osamu. His hair, his skin, his–

“I was,” Keiji interrupted his thoughts. His mouth brushed Osamu's, leaving them with glossy saliva as Osamu pulled away. 

“Would’ya like for me to stop?”

Keiji watched the saliva drip from Osamu’s mouth. His eyes tracked the movement of Osamu’s tongue as it swiped over their shared liquid–two brushes on a canvas giving to delicate strokes.

“Don’t you need to leave soon for the shop?” Keiji wondered.

Osamu chuckled, tilting back down to give attention to Keiji’s hips. “They can wait.”

“If you’re sure–”

“I’m positive.”

Osamu then ran the pad of his tongue just under the bone of Keiji’s hip. Keiji tasted sweet; of salt and sweat even though they’d gotten a quick shower together last night. Their rainwater scented soap coaxed its way through Osamu’s nostrils as he pressed his nose into Keiji’s skin. As if he could consume the other man with just one intake of air, his breath was held with the intention of taking in everything.

Keiji sighed into the air, a breath to the sky, as if it had been plucked from the hyperoxia of the atmosphere. It was relief. It was comfort. That single breath.

Osamu gave Keiji’s hips the praise they needed, his tongue the altar. Keiji gasped under the sharp ministration of Osamu’s teeth. The lithe skim stopped only for Osamu to begin sucking at the skin.

“‘Samu, ‘Samu–” Keiji began, almost like a chant pouring out of his lips. A spell, completely bewitching Osamu with each sound, flittering syllables, hitched gasp. The way Keiji said his name was a drop of lavender and roses into the jar of their existence. 

Keiji lifted his knee. The sheets fell away exposing his body to the day–to Osamu’s gaze. The newly formed crook opened Keiji’s thighs for Osamu to settle between them.

The edges of his fingers worked at the hem of Keiji’s boxers, persuading them over the skin, ready to give Keiji everything he wanted. He tugged, just to brush the fabric a hair down, before releasing all together the fabric altogether. The slap of elastic into the air caused Osamu’s skin to tingle.

“I swear to  _ god– _ ” Keiji started. His hands gripped tight on the sheets before roving for purchase elsewhere.

“Use yer words Keiji,” Osamu hummed onto the man’s stomach, sweeping his hands up Keiji’s chest.

Osamu gripped Keiji’s thighs, squeezed and massaged the skin. Keiji looked up at him with hazy eyes. A lust film filled the ink well of Keiji’s slate eyes. Osamu, like a bamboo brush, dipped his nose forward to the tint in Keiji’s briefs.

“Hn,” Keiji gasped again. The large intake of breath made Keiji’s chest rise, unfold, and bend his back like a drawn bow. “Please,  _ Osamu.  _ You know you want to taste.”

Osamu’s breathing stopped. Pulling back he watched Keiji. The other man wore a smug look painted by pink lips tugged knowingly and vibrant eyes glittering.

“Oh?” Osamu drawled. “One of those mornin’s, eh?” 

“Just put your fucking mouth on my–”

“Ah-ha, Keiji said a dirty word,” he said, though knelt down once again.

“I’m gonna show you dirty if you don’t–”

The shrill ringing of Osamu’s phone cut him off.

Osamu blinked. Keiji stared. Then he groaned, his knees falling, throwing his hands over his face.

“ _ They can wait, _ he said,” Keiji grumbled, pouting underneath his hands no doubt. “ _ I’m positive, _ he said.”

Osamu patted Keiji’s thighs before stretching across the man. While leaning over Keiji he took his phone and placed it in his ear.

Immediately, the panicked voice of Tokyo’s Onigiri Miya’s newest store open rang clear over the tone, “ _ Miya-san! Miysa-san it’s past nine and I don’t have a key–” _

“Saki-chan,” Osamu started. “Don’tcha worry. I’ll be there soon.”

“But Miya-san–”

“Soon.”

Then he hung up.

“Sorry,” Osamu said. Rueful, he began kissing Keiji’s hands that remained over his face. “Forgive me?”

Keiji moved his hands. A crestfallen expression blanketed his countenance. 

“Please,” Keiji said, “Remember to give Saki-chan her key. 

Osamu placed several quiet kisses onto Keiji’s cheeks. “Yes, yes. Anything else?”

“You better fuck me later for having to leave.”

Osamu laughed, bold and high reaching each of the corners of their apartment.

“Whatever you ask,  _ Miya _ Keiji.”

With one last lingering kiss, Osamu squeezed Keiji’s thigh and tugged him close–before inevitably leaving the bed to go take the fastest shower of his life. The entire way, he felt Keiji’s hot gaze on his back. 

  
  


* * *

_ This kind of love we can't control _

_ The art of touch, I am covered in gold _

_ I know that you feel me now _

_ No I'm never going down _

_ The parts of me buried underneath _

_ The glowing, don you see? _

_ I know that you feel me now _

_ No I'm never going down _

**Author's Note:**

> okay!!! thanks for reading!! kudos and comments are always, always welcome!!
> 
> come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacedaichi)??
> 
> i love kurodai, kurosemi, oidai... idk, mostly daichi! but a ton of other rarepairs and i'm happy to talk about them :")) 
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed!!


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